


Sacrament of the Word

by kamibanani



Series: Good Omens Prompt Drabbles [4]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: "Books are mirrors: you only see in them what you already have inside you.” – Carlos Ruiz Zafón, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, a cathartic experience for a former catholic, may be slightly blasphemous
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-20
Updated: 2019-06-20
Packaged: 2020-05-15 12:09:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19295455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kamibanani/pseuds/kamibanani
Summary: From lywinis via tumblr: Please tell me how much Aziraphale loves the written word.





	Sacrament of the Word

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lywinis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lywinis/gifts).



> Originally posted to my [tumblr](https://kamibanani.tumblr.com/post/185715070526/please-tell-me-how-much-aziraphale-loves-the). This is my first long-form, non-OC related work in a long time. Please be gentle ;; – Kami

In the beginning, there was the Word.

And the Word was with God, and the Word  _was_  God; angel of the Eastern Gate Aziraphale knew, as certainly as he knew himself, that the Word was good.

Or at least, that’s how it was up until the Word cast out the two from the garden. As he watched them stumble in the desert heat, swinging a flaming sword wildly in an effort to protect themselves from the various creatures ready to devour their flesh, the Word became sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing to the division of soul and of spirit, of joints and of marrow. The Word professed a plan, and Aziraphale watched, discomfited, as the two journeyed on.

Then the Word became a question:  _what happened to the sword I gave you?_ And he stumbled before the Word, half-finished excuses evaporating on his lips before they became falsehoods, certain that the Word would discern the thoughts and intentions of his heart.

But the Word fell silent, turning into naught more than a whisper of desert wind.

And so for a couple of centuries, there was no Word. Which was probably for the best, Aziraphale mused, glancing sidelong at the demon Crowley, who yet again just  _happened_  to be sent on a mission to the same area as he. If the Word had been present, perhaps it would have given voice to how Aziraphale had begun to look forward to these coincidences, a fact that Aziraphale tried very hard to hide and deny to everyone including himself.

But then the humans created another Word, the kind of word pressed in clay, etched in stone, and eventually flowed from ink to paper. The Word became lowercase, then, except in cases where the Word itself was recorded as words.

He still remembered his first. He had seen the written word before – the Epic of Gilgamesh had, of course, been written several centuries prior, with many other stories since – but this was the first time the words had tugged at him, compelled him.

 

**_Eleventh century, Japan; Heian period._ **

He and Crowley had been sent by each of their Head Offices to cultivate peace and war, respectively, in the budding, prosperous nation.  _The Tale of Genji_ was a marvellous work, the first of its kind. The original manuscript would eventually be lost to time, of course, but somehow – a Miracle, he supposed – a copy of the original found its way to Aziraphale’s temporary quarters before it did. He didn’t know (but had a sneaking suspicion) who sent it, but he was ever so glad they did.

The kana was no problem for him, of course; the division at the Tower of Babel didn’t affect angels. He pored over the text, marvelling not only at the thrilling, albeit  _scandalous_  life of Hikaru Genji, but also the craftsmanship and elegance of the calligraphy. The paper smelled crisp, the way he’d eventually come to associate with a new book, folding out in the then-traditional way like a secret being slowly revealed.

 _Genji_  was words, but so unlike  _the_  Word, it felt almost blasphemous to behold. It was brilliant, salacious, and so very un-Word-like that at first Aziraphale read it in darkness, under the shelter of his futon, as if it would hide him from any seeing eyes.

He had been collecting words for some time, but this was the first novel, the first collection of words solely for the sake of  _having_ ; it was the cornerstone upon which A.Z. Fell & Co would eventually be founded.

 

**_Sixteenth Century, Belgium; the Middle Ages_ **

By the time he found himself in Belgium, his collection had grown considerably. He made mention of it to Crowley the next time they met clandestinely. Something unfathomable had cross Crowley’s face, then, and at first, Aziraphale thought he had actually wound up irritating the surprisingly easy-going demon.

Soon, however, he found himself in possession of a copy of the  _Rothschild Prayer Book_  in all its illuminated and gilded-edged glory. It was left wrapped in a discreet brown wrapping, somehow inserted in the basket he took with him to the market. He didn’t know who – though, he thought, with a sidelong glance at the amber-eyed demon leaning nonchalantly against a merchant’s stall, he could guess.

The Word had become lowercase now, just words. Where once the Word was intangible, incomprehensible, and just a wee bit intimidating, there was simply now something which made what passed for his heart and soul thrum with a deep sense of longing and satisfaction simultaneously

The  _Prayer Book_  joined  _Genji_  on his shelf of favourites.

 

**_Twenty-first Century, England; Now_.**

Technically, A.Z. Fell & Co was a book  _shop_. Meaning, the books he collected would eventually leave him in exchange for human money. Sometimes, the books found their way back to him after purchaser moved on to be with the true Word. He never really wanted to let his books – yes, he still thought of them as  _his_  even after someone purchased them – go.

But the Word had been silent for Aziraphale for many centuries now; the Word was filtered through the voices of others: Gabriel, Uriel, Michael… truthfully, he’d almost forgotten what the Word had sounded like when she spoke.

Instead, Aziraphale had filled his life on earth with  _words_. Kind words, harsh words, loving words, prophetic words. Mysteriously-appearing-words, the kind that he always seemed to find just after Crowley had left, sitting in such an obvious place that it was a miracle (perhaps with a capital M) that he’d never noticed it there before.

When he was discorporated and Crowley told him, through the slur of inebriation and what Aziraphale could have sworn were tears if he didn’t know any better, that his bookshop had burned, Aziraphale felt… strange. Almost hollow. Almost empty. Worse than he had felt when the Word sounded from the sky and queried about his sword. But the words had become lowercase, and Aziraphale tucked away the feeling to concentrate on stopping the apocalypse.

It wasn’t until they stood on that airfield, Crowley falling to the ground as the Master of all demons came to reprimand the rebellious anti-Christ, that he again found power in the Word. Crowley looked up at him, and Aziraphale knew with certainty – though perhaps he had always known – that the words that had filled his longing over the last six thousand years were because of  _him_.

The Word was with God, and the Word  _was_  God… and God was Love.

So he threatened Crowley, who too understood the power of the Word, and so pulled off just enough of a Miracle to give young Adam the time and strength he needed to defy his destiny.

In the aftermath of the Apocalypse That Wasn’t, Aziraphale breathed in the dusty, papery scent of his reborn bookshop.  _Genji_  and the  _Prayer Book_  still stood, none worse for the wear, in their honoured place. Crowley had come and gone, leaving behind a rare first-edition copy of  _Pride and Prejudice_. Aziraphale ran his fingers over the worn cover, smiling. The written word  _was_  the Word, even when it wasn’t, for the Word was Love and Crowley lay the written word before his feet, like an offering to the gods of Old.

He set  _Pride and Prejudice_  next to the  _Prayer Book_  and  _Genji_.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! If you like this drabble, please be sure to check out my chaptered works too.


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